We Could Still Have It All
by MusicWritesMyLife
Summary: Slightly AU, post s2-ish. Sydney's returned to the CIA after a four-year absence to help bring down the Covenant. However, many things have changed in her absence, and the new director isn't nearly as trusting, especially given her history. Not to mention that Vaughn is back from a deep-cover assignment and they haven't spoken since their break-up four years prior... More inside.
1. Prologue

**A/N: So this is my first stab at an Alias story. I love the show (I think it took me all of like four months to watch all five seasons) and I started this story last year, before I discovered FFN. Since I have a couple of chapters blocked already, I thought I'd put this out there to see if there is any interest. This first bit is short, but it's only the prologue; the other chapters are quite a bit longer. **

**This story is slightly AU. I had originally started writing it as a separate story with some of the names changed slightly so that it wasn't directly an Alias story, so the plotline isn't 100% concurrent with the way things go in the show. **

**With regards to a timeline, the best place realistically to slot it is right at the beginning of S3, but there are some things (possibly quite a few things) that happened differently during S1, S2, and the gap in between S2 and S3. First off, Sydney and Vaughn met as kids because Sydney grew up with her grandparents (Jack's parents) in Maine. So during the time on the show where Sydney and Danny were in a relationship, that relationship is actually Sydney and Vaughn. SD-6 still recruits Sydney, but because she's dating Vaughn who already works for the CIA, she's a double agent from the start. Most of S1 progresses the same way, but after they take down SD-6, Vaughn and Weiss get asked to go on a deep-cover assignment for four years. Sydney isn't happy when she finds out and they break up. She starts dating Danny after he leaves. **

**Another thing that's different: Sydney never got kidnapped by the Covenant. She still worked with them, under the alias of Julia Thorne, but the circumstances are different. In fact, she quits working for the Covenant shortly before any of this takes place. It may seem confusing at first what she does with the four years that Vaughn is gone on assignment, but it'll all be made clear. All you really need to know is she quite the CIA and worked with the Covenant under alias. **

**I mixed in a little bit of S4 here too because I figured they needed a secret group to take down the Covenant, so don't be surprised if APO crops up before it's supposed to. Sloane's not running it, though, he's still in his S3 role, and so Kendall's in charge instead. **

**And that whole Frnacie doppelganger thing? That never happened. Ditto with the Will on drugs. **

**ANYWAY, that was a really huge note, so I'll stop now and let you read. Sorry if I may have confused you! **

**Let me know if there's any interest!**

* * *

PROLOGUE

_Outside Los Angeles_

_11:25_

_August 2005_

THE JEEP ROARED ALONG THE winding country road, leaving the metropolitan city centre of Los Angeles behind. The man driving the Jeep was approaching middle age: early thirties or so. His brown hair was cut short, but not short enough that the natural curl was lost. His grey eyes were creased at the corners, and the little sprigs of premature grey hair at his temples gave him the appearance of someone older. He was casually dressed: jeans and a T-Shirt. His overall appearance was very casual and relaxed, making you automatically assume that he was very casual and laid-back in life.

His companion, on the other hand, seemed much more meticulously prepared. Sure, her clothes were casual, but there was a subtle purpose, a scheme, to her attire. Her just-past-shoulder-length brown hair rippled back in the wind, drawing attention to the delicate, defined structure of her face. Her complexion was fair, despite the fact that she'd lived in Los Angeles for the last eight or nine years. Her brown eyes sparkled, and her shoulders were relaxed, something that anyone who knew her could tell you never happened very often. She wore a blouse, blue and loose fitting, with a pair of non-descript, khaki capris. She seemed to be the kind of person that would always be prepared in for any kind of scenario; she seemed to be very neat and organized. She also seemed to be very collected, just the sort of person you would want to have around in an emergency, because you wouldn't see her type panicking, but rather calmly and coolly analyzing possible options.

The woman tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear—though the wind would only blow it back again—and surveyed the landscape. The California countryside was beautiful, though between work and school, she had never had time to enjoy it. It was nice to be able to relax, knowing she had a weekend off in Palm Springs and no job to rush back to on Monday. Classes didn't start for another month, so she could just relax and enjoy some time with her friends—something that hadn't happened in a long time.

The sounds of the Bob Seger song playing on the radio was drowned out by the wind, making the woman feel the need to raise her voice in order to be heard; the words would otherwise float away on the wind.

"I still can't believe we're doing this."

The man shook his head. "What's so hard to believe? It's a weekend in Palm Springs to celebrate you finally quitting that accursed job of yours. I've been meaning to do this for months."

The woman sighed. "I know, Danny, it's just that it feels so…liberating."

He laughed. "That just means you need to take more holidays. Which we'll do now that you're no longer employed."

"But what about when you start working? You'll be at the hospital all the time, and we'll have no more romantic weekends."

"All the more reason to take them now." He paused. "Do you mind looking in the glovebox for a sec? I think the map's in there."

She shook her head, protesting that they didn't need a map, but opened the glove box anyways. There was no map, but something small and round wrapped in paper caught her eye. She hesitated for a fraction of a second, and then ducked down for a closer look.

There was a spit of gunfire, and the car lurched out of control, swerving madly off the road. For the woman, the next few moments were a blur, as the car rolled and spun off the road. For a few seconds, she thought she would die, but after the car stopped rolling, the agony she felt all over confirmed that she was very much alive.

"Danny?" Her voice was a croak. When there was no answer, she tried to turn, despite the airbag wedged against her chest. Danny was beside her, but he was slumped over the steering wheel, his face drenched in scarlet. Red, wet, and sticky, blood covered his face and her hands as she tried to move him, ignoring the protests from the rest of her body.

When she thought back on it later, the next few minutes were very vague. She tried to check vitals, but her hands were too shaky. She must have blacked out, because the paramedics were suddenly swarming like flies. She blacked out again, and when she woke this time, she was in the ambulance. Someone was holding her hand. A man. A very familiar man.

"Vaughn," she whispered, and then blacked out.


	2. Chapter 1

**So, since one person put this on their alerts list (thank you cyn23!) and I know that Alias has been over for a while and I'm not too sure that there's as much activity in this fandom than in some of the other ones I write for, I figured I may as well put up the next chapter because I have it written! This one is much longer than the prologue, and has much more going on in it and will probably explain a lot of things that may have been confusing in the giant note I had at the beginning of the last chapter. There are a couple of other things I didn't mention that are out of order, like the fact that Sydney's still in school, and Nadia is more of a freelance agent and grew up in contact with her aunts in Russia (namely Katya). **_  
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**ANYWAY, I think that's all you really need to know. Happy reading!**

**I love reviews, but if you prefer to silently observe, that's okay too. At least people are interested! :)**

* * *

_CIA Headquarters_

_Los Angeles_

_09:30_

_One month later_

WALKING IN THROUGH THE FRONT door of the CIA headquarters in Los Angeles was one of the strangest moments of Sydney Bristow's life. It had been almost four years since she had set foot in this building, and she'd honestly thought she'd never set foot in it again. This time, however, was different from all the other times. She'd never had to come in with an escort before, and, though the two suited men walking slightly behind her could easily be two other men walking around, their presence was extremely disconcerting. It made her feel like a criminal. The curious stares she attracted didn't help either. Sydney knew that she was a little bit of a CIA legend; the story of the girl who pretty much single-handedly brought down one of the most powerful terrorist cells in the Northern Hemisphere had caused her to become an office celebrity. Very few people actually got to see the fabled Sydney Bristow in the flesh, since she never actually came through the main entrance, and they all seemed to be taking full advantage of the opportunity.

Thankfully, the friendly face of Agent Eric Weiss was waiting for her in the hallway. He took one look at the guards following behind her and said, "I've got it from here, gentleman."

For a second, Sydney thought they would ignore him, but after a moment they disappeared with a curt nod at Weiss and an accusing glare at Sydney.

"What's going on?" she hissed, as soon as the guards were out of earshot. "They met me at the door like I'm some kind of criminal. Didn't they read my statements? Can't they see that I'm actually doing them a favour by joining? They should be thanking me, not placing me under armed guard." She lowered her voice, aware that people were beginning to stare. "And where's Vaughn? I thought he was going to meet me. That's what we agreed on Tuesday when I came in to write my statement."

"Change of plan," Weiss replied. "Vaughn was in Havana, trying to pick up the trail of a former arms dealer linked to The Covenant. He just got back this morning; he's still being debriefed. They sent me instead. I hope you don't mind."

Sydney smiled. "Of course not. I'm always happy to see you, Weiss. But what's with the escort?"

Weiss looked around, then grabbed her arm and pulled her off down a more private hallway. "Listen, Syd, I'm not actually supposed to be telling you this, but I think you deserve a fair warning. I agree with you, we're extremely lucky to have you back, given the circumstances—your father and Vaughn agree with me on this as well—but Kendall doesn't seem to be convinced. He still thinks that you're a traitor to the country, and he doesn't buy your whole 'I didn't know what The Covenant was really doing' story, so he's put you under surveillance. Don't be alarmed if there are people outside your house too."

"People outside my house?" Sydney exclaimed, outraged. "Who does this guy think he is? Does he think I'm some kind of terrorist?"

"Apparently so," Weiss said quietly. "He's taking no chances with you."

"Well if he thinks I'm such a threat, then why did he reinstate my clearance? Why not just throw me in a cell?"

"Well, apparently your father pulled some rank. Rumour is that Vaughn stuck his neck out quite far for you too. We all had to do psych evaluations, me, your father, Vaughn, anyone from the office that you'd been close to last time, to see if we really believed that you'd knowingly be part of a terrorist organisation. We all said no, of course. After that, Kendall couldn't really shut you out, but he's not willing to take any chances." Weiss smiled. "He may not have operational control, but he pulls quite a bit of rank with Langley. Even so, amongst the upperclassmen here, he doesn't have as much power as he wants. After all, he's the odd one out. All the other senior staff members have been working together for years."

Sydney smiled thinly. "As nice as it is to know that most of the senior staff is still the same, I want to have a word with Kendall. I haven't even met him, and he's already crossed a line." Without waiting for Weiss to reply, she strode down the hallway towards the Ops Centre. As she was walking, something occurred to her. "Weiss, the arms dealer Vaughn was tracking in Havana. Who was he?"

Weiss sighed. "Technically, I'm not supposed to be sharing this with you, but I don't believe in keeping secrets from friends, and I think, as a senior staff member, you should be kept posted. His name is Vladimir Leibovski. He's a Bulgarian munitions dealer who was known to have supplied The Covenant with a number of weapons over the years. He no longer works for them, but Kendall thought he might have some intell. Vaughn went with a tactical team to apprehend him. They got nothing. Leibovski wasn't there, despite sources that confirmed he was. Kendall was, as you can imagine, furious."

Sydney smiled. An idea had just occurred to her. "Let this be my first test then. I want a meeting with all the senior staff in twenty minutes. I know why you couldn't find Leibovski. He wasn't in Havana."

"Then I take it you know where he is?"

Sydney grinned. "Of course."

* * *

The minutes Sydney spent sitting aimlessly at her desk seemed like hours. She was still waiting for Weiss to let her know whether or not Vaughn was out of debrief so they could have the meeting. She was desperate to prove herself, to gain Kendall's trust. She just wanted to get it over with, to get to work. Sitting idly didn't do her any good; in fact it was the spare moments where her mind had a tendency to wander…

_The weather was uncommonly warm for the end of the summer, which only made the funeral even more unbearable. Within minutes of sitting down, everyone was stifling, but, of course, none of them would admit it. The reverend's droning was forgotten amidst the heat; it felt more like July than August._

_From where she was sitting in the front row, Sydney could feel everyone's eyes on her. She knew they were looking at her for many reasons: 1) she was the girlfriend of the deceased, 2) she was the only survivor of the fatal "car accident" that had taken Danny's life, and 3) she was battered and bruised from the incident. She had thought about wearing cover-up to hide all her bumps and bruises, but hadn't felt like going to the hassle of putting it all on in the morning. Besides, she didn't want to look too perfect at Danny's funeral. The large bruise on her cheekbone was beginning to fade; the unhealthy purple had become more of a sickly green. The hairline cut above her right eyebrow was almost healed; it was really only her hip that was still sore. It was one of the worst injuries she'd had in a while; the seatbelt had left a deep cut surrounded by purpley-blue bruising with the veins spiralling away from it like spider webs. The other minor scrapes—caused mostly by the rolling of the Jeep, and the explosion of the windshield—had healed, but her hip still throbbed every time something touched it. Even the light pressure caused by her fitted black dress was enough to override the painkillers._

_The sharp elbow in the ribs from her best friend Francie Calfo—who was sitting beside her—brought her back to the present._

_"You've got to say something," she hissed._

_Sydney gave Francie a tiny nod to indicate her thanks before getting up and walking towards the front. All eyes followed her up and stared expectantly as she turned to face them. Her speech seemed to have glued itself to the inside of her pocket; it took a bit of tugging to get it out. Why she'd even written a speech was beyond her; she'd known Danny well enough to do his eulogy without anything written down._

_She paused, before finding the courage to speak._

_"Danny Hecht was a kind, intelligent man, and perhaps one of the best people I ever had the honour to know. I probably haven't known him as long as many of you who are gathered here, but I think I can say I knew him well. He was someone that I cared about very much, someone who was taken from us too soon. I know how much his career meant to him, and how much he wanted to be able to help other people. In fact, Danny was one of the most helpful people I knew. Having to live without him…" The tears finally flooded her eyes, and she could feel her throat closing over. She didn't want to cry now, not in front of everyone. She tried to take a few shaky breaths, to calm herself, but the tears pressed forward. Her eyes frantically roved the crowd, looking for someone who wasn't crying of teary-eyed. At the back of the crowd, Sydney found him. She'd invited him; wanted him to be there; carefully slipped the note under a file folder on his desk where she thought it would be seen, but she hadn't thought that he'd actually come. There was too much bad blood and old history between him and Francie. And yet, he'd come anyways._

_Michael Vaughn's eyes were dry when Sydney saw him, but his face was full of sadness and understanding. She remembered; his father had died when Vaughn was ten. He knew very well this grief she was feeling. How many funerals had he attended for agents who were gone, too? For a moment, it seemed inconsiderate to invite him, but Sydney needed him here. He was her tether, the one thing that pulled her back together when she teetered on the verge of falling apart._

_Looking at him now, she could feel herself mastering the tears enough to continue._

_"Danny was a friend, but he was also so much more than that. He was like a brother to me, a confidante." The tears were coming faster now, and looking at Vaughn did nothing. "I loved him so much, and I'll spend every day of my life wishing it was me they were burying instead."_

_Her legs trembled as she sat down. Francie put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. "That was beautiful, Syd," she whispered tearfully._

_Sydney tried to smile, but her facial muscles wouldn't move. She wanted to get up and run into Vaughn's arms, and never have to think about any of this again, even though she knew it was impossible. Not only had he been gone for the last four years, but they had never really talked about what happened the night he left. She had no idea if he had dated anyone while he was gone; she certainly had._

_The reverend said a prayer, and the pallbearers began to winch the coffin down into the grave. It hit Sydney then: she was never going to see Danny again. It seemed too much to bear, and a wave of revulsion rolled over her as Sloane's face flashed across her mind. She wasn't going to rest until he'd paid._

"Syd, they're ready."

The memories scattered like sand in the wind as Weiss approached Sydney's desk. She managed a small smile and stood up. "You sure you're okay?" Weiss asked.

Sydney nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine." She forced a bigger, more convincing smile. "Let's go meet the gang."

She started towards the briefing room, but was stopped when Weiss put a hand on her shoulder. Looking around, he lowered his voice and said, "We're meeting in one of the conference rooms upstairs. This is all off the record."

Sydney frowned, confused. "Off record?"

Weiss nodded and lead her down an unfamiliar corridor that lead to the elevators. "I wish I could explain it to you, Syd, but I can't. You'll just have to trust me on this one." There was an awkward pause before he continued. "Have you spoken to Vaughn at all?"

Sydney could feel her face tightening. "Yeah. He came to Danny's funeral."

"But you haven't talked about what happened."

"No." _And I don't want to, _Sydney thought.

"I don't know if you've looked at the records or anything," he began, "but Vaughn and I didn't have a choice about going to London. He fought tooth and nail to do it some other time, to get someone else to go, but Langley shut him down. He wanted to stay with you, Syd. He was miserable without you; for the first month I didn't think he'd be able to pull it together."

Sydney had read the reports. She knew they didn't have a choice. In fact, when she'd thought about it after the fact, she'd realized that he probably didn't have a choice. That was what made it so much worse: knowing that, by overreacting so much, she had ruined the best thing in her life. She opened her mouth to reply, but she wasn't really sure what to say. Thankfully, she didn't have to. Looking at Weiss, she could see he understood.

The conference room on the second floor was filled with familiar faces. In fact, if Sydney remembered correctly, they were all sitting in the same places around the oval shaped table that they had usually occupied in the briefing room four years ago. At the front, in the seat that would usually be occupied by Director Devlin, sat F.B.I. Assistant Director Kendall. On the other side of the screen was her father, Jack Bristow, the next most senior agent at the office. Sitting to Kendall's right was and empty seat that Weiss quickly slipped into, and the empty one next to him was obviously for her.

There was a tense silence as Sydney sat down, which was broken by the door opening.

Michael Vaughn slipped into the empty seat to Sydney's right, muttering apologies to Kendall as he did so. Their eyes met for a minute, and there was an awkward moment before Sydney looked away. She hadn't really spoken to Vaughn since the funeral; he'd been doing a lot of fieldwork, and she'd been busy with school. She'd also been avoiding him, in part, because she knew that at some point, they were going to have to talk about what was going on or was going to happen between them. They hadn't spoken about what had happened four years ago at all, and Sydney was dreading the day that that topic would come up. It had been the worst night of her life, and the thought of rehashing it was something that she didn't ever want to have to deal with.

"So, Agent Bristow, I presume you've called us here for a reason." Kendall's voice cut through the silence like a knife. Sydney had barely known this man ten minutes, and already she didn't like him. When she'd first met him that day she'd come to write her statement, she'd tried not to from an opinion until she got to know him, but now it was clear that they were two people who weren't going to get along.

"Yes," she replied tightly, before standing up. "I have been informed that you recently sent Agent Vaughn to Havana to retrieve Vladimir Leibovski. From what I understand, you were unable to apprehend Leibovski in Havana. Am I correct, Agent Vaughn?" She tried to control her emotions as she looked at him. He opened his mouth to respond, but Kendall interrupted.

"You have a point, Agent Bristow?"

"I believe the question was addressed to Agent Vaughn, sir," Sydney snapped, not appreciating his condescending tone.

"You're right, Syd," Vaughn said quietly, but firmly. "Leibovski wasn't in Havana."

Jack Bristow watched his daughter intently. "Sydney, do you know where he is?"

Sydney ignored her father's question. "When Leibovski used to supply weapons to The Covenant, he operated out of a warehouse in Havana. He—"

"We're aware of this, Agent Bristow," Kendall interrupted. "We sent Agent Vaughn to Havana based on your report." He glared at her, as if to indicate that Vaughn's failure to produce Leibovski was her fault.

"If you'd read my report, sir, then you'd already know that Leibovski left Havana after The Covenant finished with him," Sydney retorted. "Havana was a temporary set-up. His real operations centre is in Paris, where he operates under the name of Bernard Cousteau. I can phone him to set up a meeting, and then I can go in and apprehend him."

There was a tense silence. Jack spoke, "I think this is valid intell, Kendall."

"We may never get another chance to get Leibovski," Weiss added.

Kendall frowned. "What you've said is true, but I don't want to risk a set-up. Agent Bristow, Agent Vaughn, you're going to Paris. Find Leibovski, talk to him. Get a copy of his itinerary if you can. If he looks like he's got some interesting plans going on, let him stay where he is. If not, bring him in."

"Really, Director Kendall, I hardly think that's necessary," Sydney protested. "This is a one-man job. I'm perfectly capable of getting the itinerary and apprehending Leibovski by myself."

"Are you really so naïve as to think that I'm going to let you waltz in to see some old The Covenant contact by yourself?" Kendall's accusing glare made Sydney's cheeks flush angrily. She opened her mouth, outraged, but he continued. "I am aware that this is a one-man job, Miss Bristow, but none of our men know how to contact Leibovski, nor how he operates. So Agent Vaughn will be accompanying you. End of discussion." He paused and glanced around. "Any questions?" No one said anything. "Good." To Sydney and Vaughn, he said, "You leave in fourteen hours. Good luck."

Sydney tried to conceal her frustration as she left the room and headed back to the Ops Centre to get her purse. That Kendall still didn't believe she was loyal to the CIA was beyond frustrating. All this was beginning to give her the feeling that she was never going to fit in here, no matter what she did. There were still going to be accusing stares as she walked down the halls, condescending comments from Kendall, constant supervision to prevent her from contacting her old contacts at The Covenant.

As she was leaving, she noticed the memorial plaque on the wall that commemorated those agents from the LA office who had lost their lives in action. Seeing the commemoration made her think of how it could have easily been her name up on that plaque with the others, had Danny not been in the way…

_It seemed like years before all the funeral-goers had left the house. As soon as the door closed behind the last guest, Sydney collapsed on the couch and closed her eyes. All she wanted was for this to be over, and her sad semblance of a life to resume._

_"You okay?"_

_Sydney rolled over to face her best friend, Will Tippin, who was hovering by the kitchen island, looking concerned. She had noticed him watching her throughout the whole service. Though she'd only known him for four years or so, she trusted him more than many people she'd known longer._

_"I'm okay," Sydney said, forcing a little smile. "Just tired."_

_"Mmm." Will nodded. "It was a long day." He frowned, like he was trying to remember something. "That guy at the funeral, the guy standing at the back? Is he a friend of yours? Because he was watching you the whole time."_

_Sydney wondered how best to answer this. Technically, Vaughn wasn't a friend; he was so much more than that. But they weren't dating, so she wasn't exactly sure what to call him. "He's a…well he works at the brokerage with me."_

_"What brokerage? I thought you said that after the bank, you were done."_

_Sydney sighed. "I did, but the I realized that I really need the money. I know Francie would lend me some, or my dad would, but I want to have my own income, you know? Besides, I'm in my last year of grad school, and I don't think I'll go into teaching as soon as I'm done anyways. I need something to do in the interim. This is different from the bank. I like it."_

_"Oh." Will looked at her for a long time. She almost wanted to yell at him, to tell him to find something else to look at. The way he was staring at her, it made her feel strangely exposed, like he knew there was more to this story than what she'd told him. Which there was, but now wasn't the time to tell it. "It's complicated," she said._

_"Okay. You don't have to talk about it."_

_Sydney smiled weakly. "Thanks." She paused for a second. "Is Francie still in the shower?"_

_Will nodded. "Yes. Why?"_

_Sydney shook her head. "Nothing. I'm going for a walk to clear my head. Tell Francie where I've gone, okay? I'll be an hour or so."_

_"Okay, Syd. You're sure you don't want company?" Will looked so eager that Sydney hated to shut him down, but she really needed the time to think. "Not today, Will. Maybe another time?"_

_"Sure thing." He smiled, the first real smile she'd seen all day…_

…Clear her head. Sydney really needed to clear her head. She couldn't seem to focus on anything today; she was just stuck in the past. Still, looking at the memorial outside the Ops Centre reminded her of Danny's tombstone that day after the funeral…

_The cemetery was peaceful. The symmetry of all the tombstones was beautiful, but Sydney didn't notice that until later visits. Today, all she could see was the shining granite headstone, the newest addition to a family of hundreds. Inscribed upon it was written: DANNY HECHT, 1973-2001. FOREVER WITH ANGELS._

_Sydney could feel the tears welling up as she knelt down in front of the grave. The lump swelling in her throat blocked all the things she'd meant to say. This time, she let them come. Down they fell, like rain; rivers streaming down her cheeks, flooding her face and dripping off her chin. To have someone so beautiful, so perfect, be taken away, she could barely begin to imagine._

_"I thought I'd find you here."_

_Vaughn's voice seemed to come from very far away._

_"Syd, I'm sorry," he continued. "I meant to stay after the funeral, but, considering the way things are with Francie, I thought it would be better to give you guys some peace."_

_"Don't worry," Sydney said quietly, wiping the tears from her cheeks. "I didn't think you'd come at all."_

_He sighed. "Syd…"_

_"Don't," she whispered. "Not now, Vaughn. Please."_

_He said nothing. Slowly, she stood up and they stood together, side by side, facing the grave._

_"I wasn't fast enough," Vaughn said softly. "Syd, if we'd–"_

_"It wasn't your fault." Sydney hated to see him blaming himself for any of this when he'd saved her life. "I should have known The Covenant would never let me go that easily, not when I was so valuable. My mistake was leaving, and now Danny's dead–" The tears started to come again, cutting off her words. There wasn't anything else to say._

_Vaughn wrapped his arms around her. "I'm so sorry," he whispered._

_Sydney didn't say anything. She didn't need to, because, even though she was crying by someone's grave, this moment was perfect._

"Hey. Are you okay?"

Sydney blinked, yanking herself back into the present. She was still standing in front of the plaque commemorating those who had been killed in action. She quickly reached up and brushed the tears out of her eyes before turning to face Vaughn. He frowned in concern, standing the way he always did, his hands slung in the pockets of his slacks.

"Yeah." Sydney brushed past him, keeping her head down. "I'm fine."

Vaughn strode after her. "Syd." When she ignored him, he sped up. "Sydney!" Again, she ignored him. "Hey!" He grabbed her arm and spun her to face him. He looked worried. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Sydney nodded, trying to conceal her frustration at Vaughn's persistence. Why wouldn't he just leave her alone? It was touching that he cared so much, even after everything that had happened, but now she wished he would just leave her alone. "That's all anyone seems to ask these days." She tried to force a smile, but it came out like a grimace. "I'm fine, Vaughn. Really," she added, when he continued to look dubious. "I should probably go. I'll be late for class." She gave him a tiny smile and left.

"Was that Sydney?" Weiss ambled up to join Vaughn in the hallway.

Vaughn just continued staring after her. She worried him, especially now, seeing as she wouldn't talk to him, or anyone else, for that matter. There was only so much one can keep bottled up inside before they exploded. Vaughn didn't intend to find out how much Sydney could take before that happened to her.

"I don't think she'd field ready. After all that's happened…"

Weiss rolled his eyes. "Michael, in case you haven't noticed, she hasn't been doing a whole lot of field work yet. Kendall doesn't trust her any further than he can throw her, and she's not supposed to know about APO yet—since they haven't determined whether or not she's worthy—so there's not much else she _can_ do. Besides, I think a normal routine is exactly what she needs to take her mind off things. Give her some time. Syd's strong. She'll be all right."

Vaughn frowned. "Regardless of what he thinks, Kendall's going to have to send her out into the field more and more often. She's the only one who knows anything substantial about The Covenant She's the key to bringing them down, and Kendall knows it. Trust is not an issue here. These are terrorists we're dealing with."

"Yeah, but this is Sydney we're talking about. Normal rules don't apply to that kid," Weiss replied. "I think she's more than capable of taking care of herself. Besides, I think The Covenant has seriously underestimated what they're dealing with, since they haven't come after her again. You'd think the wouldn't want to use such a valuable asset."

"At twenty-six, she's hardly a kid, Weiss," Vaughn reminded him gently.

"Right," said Weiss. "You all set to go?"

Vaughn nodded. "From what I understand, the contact protocol is pretty lengthily. We may be gone a couple days. Listen; do you mind looking after Sergeant for me if we're gone more than a day? I'll leave his food out."

Weiss sighed. "Do I mind looking after his dog, he asks. Have I ever had a choice? You know I feed that dog more often than you do anyways, even when you're home. The perks of being you're housemate."

Vaughn smiled. "Hey, I'm not the one who agreed to live with me. You could have turned the offer down."

"Yeah and have to do my own cooking? Do you have any idea how much of my paycheck would be spent on food? Take-out is expensive these days." He shook his head. "By the way, does Kendall know you're going to be gone that long though? He'll have Sydney's head if he thinks she's playing us."

"Of course he knows," Vaughn snapped, the tension returning to his tall, lean frame. "Sydney included the contact protocol in her statement. If Kendall doesn't know, Jack will be able to remind him. And even if he didn't, Sydney would never betray us, because she's trying to earn Kendall's trust. She wants to belong here."

"What's going on with you?" Vaughn turned away, but Weiss followed. "Did Lauren call you?" Again, Vaughn said nothing. "Is that what this is about: the fact that you feel guilty about not telling Sydney about Lauren? Because you don't normally jump down my throat every time I open my mouth, Michael."

"That's not what this is about," Vaughn replied stiffly, but the muscle jumping in his jaw indicated otherwise. "Besides, I don't have to feel guilty about not telling her. She didn't tell me about Danny."

"Yeah, because she'd left the Agency, you were on a deep-cover, and she'd sworn she was never going to see you again. This is a totally different scenario."

"How does that make it a different scenario?" Vaughn cried in exasperation. "Besides, Sydney doesn't need anymore complications in her life right now," he added with quiet finality. "I'd like to leave it that way."

"Ultimately, it's your choice," Weiss warned. "But the longer you let this sit, the worse it's going to be for you. If you don't tell her yourself, she might find out in less than favourable circumstances, and then all hell will break loose."

Vaughn sighed. "I'll tell her, all right, just not now. Let's get this mission over with first."

"Suit yourself."

Vaughn cast a glance around. People were beginning to look at them. Feeling self-conscious, he turned to Weiss. "We should get out of here. We've quit the CIA remember? We can't exactly hang around."

Weiss nodded. "You're right. Let's go."


	3. Chapter 2

**A note about last chapter too: there was one point at Danny's funeral where Sydney was thinking about a guy named Waller and how he was going to pay for what happened to Danny. That should have been Sloane. I changed it, but for those of you that already read the chapter, I thought I'd let you know. And when Vaughn's talking about Laura, that should be Lauren. **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

_St. Petersburg, Russia_

_23:30_

THE NIGHT AIR WAS COLD; so cold that the locals were even admitting to themselves that the temperature was abnormally low for October. The streets were quiet; the only sound that could be heard—other than that of the occasional passing car—were the pounding bass beats from a nearby club. None of the residents seemed to mind, however, in fact they were all used to the noise; the club was extremely popular.

The girl, like everyone else, seemed unperturbed by the thundering bass coming from down the road. She stood casually outside the apartment building, hands in the pockets of her coat. After a few moments, she went in and examined the mailboxes in the lobby. A small smile curved around her lips as her eyes came to rest on one name in particular: M. PETROVKA, 3B. After all these years, Katya still couldn't register property under her own name. Maybe it was because she'd spent so many years working for the SVR, or perhaps it was simply because she understood the significance and risk of being a Derevko.

Slowly, the girl crossed the lobby. Any passerby looking at her would simply think that she was a resident of the apartment building, perhaps Marina's niece, or the teenage daughter of the divorced lawyer in 4C. She was petite and very slim; she looked like she could hardly be older than sixteen or seventeen. Her hair was pulled back into a bun and in the light it looked as black as ink. Combined with her olive complexion and deep, brown eyes, she looked very European, Russian or Greek, perhaps. With her black coat and equally black sweatpants, she seemed to disappear in the dim light of the lobby. If anyone could be a human chameleon, it was she.

The girl, in fact, _was_ a human chameleon. Her name was Nadia Santos, and at nineteen-almost-twenty, she was one of the most successful spies in the freelance world, her biggest, and only rival, being the fearsome Julia Thorne. Raised outside of Buenos Aires, she spoke Spanish as well as she spoke Russian. Having been in the freelance business since she was sixteen, Nadia had learned the importance of being able to disappear. While Julia had a reputation for being extremely skilled and speedy, Nadia greatest strength was her ability to disappear.

Apartment 3B was the same as all the others: a plain, wooden door with a letter and number affixed to it. Nadia raised her fist, but hesitated for a second before knocking. She hadn't seen her aunt Katya in a few years, and she didn't really know what to expect. She wasn't even sure if Katya would be able to offer her any help; perhaps this situation had gone too far for the SVR to be able to help. Still, she hoped there was _something_ that her aunt could do. If not, she didn't think there was anywhere else she could go.

It was a moment before the door opened, revealing Nadia's formidable aunt, Lieutenant Katya Derevko. She hadn't changed at all since the last time Nadia had seen her. Tall and thin, with short, dark hair and piercing blue eyes and a pale complexion, Katya looked very intimidating. The fact that she carried herself ramrod straight and had a permanently haughty look affixed to her face only made her look more intimidating. However, when she saw her niece, she smiled, and that fearsome expression was lost for a moment, making her almost look human.

"Ah! Nadia!" She held the door open wide. "Come in."

Katya's apartment was dimly lit and sparsely furnished. The lieutenant spent very little time here, so she had seen no need for any extra touches. Nadia took a seat on the sofa, and stared into the depths of the fireplace. Her aunt took a seat in the armchair across the room.

"Something tells me this isn't simply a pleasure visit," Katya said cautiously, after a few moments of silence.

Nadia shook her head. "They're on to me, Katya. I need somewhere to hide, somewhere where they won't be able to find me or hurt me. I know they're after me because of my mother, and because of that stupid prophecy, but I'm not going to let them catch me. Not after what they did to me the last time. That's why I came. I thought maybe, the government could give me some protection. Maybe there is someplace I can hide? I'm a Russian citizen, after all."

Katya sighed. "There is nothing I would love more than to offer you some protection from the horrors you may suffer at their hands, darling. I know that your mother wanted you to be hidden from this for as long as possible, but The Covenant's reach extends far deeper than it would seem. I am sure there are people who could be easily swayed—if they have not been already—to provide information about your whereabouts, especially if the SVR is the organisation offering you protection. You cannot stay here, my child. This is where they will expect you to come. You must go to Irina; they do not know you grew up with her. They do not know where she is. And then you must go to America."

"America?" Nadia was perplexed. "What's in America?"

"Nadia," Katya began kindly. "I hoped to be able to tell you this sooner."

"Tell me what?"

"Before your mother gave birth to you, she was married to an American. He lives in Los Angeles."

"Is that why I have to go to America?" Nadia wondered why, if her mother had been married, that she had left in the first place.

"No." Katya paused. "You need to see your sister."

* * *

_USAF C-17_

_Somewhere over the Atlantic_

_22:45_

Sydney Bristow was tired. As an agent of the CIA, she was trained to be able to sleep anywhere, anytime. Sleep was a luxury in this business; they trained you to take what you could get. Despite this, Sydney couldn't sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she was haunted by nightmares; the images she saw left her chilled to the bone, making sleep impossible. She knew she should get some rest so she could be fully alert in Paris—it was a test, after all—but she knew that no matter how hard she tried, a peaceful sleep was not going to come. She'd just have to push through the exhaustion once she got to Paris.

Not only did she have to worry about the effects that a lack of sleep could have on her performance in Paris tomorrow, but she had a pile of schoolwork awaiting her when she got home, in addition to her debrief. Sydney had a paper due for her history class tomorrow, but, having cleared it with the professor beforehand, she had until midnight to hand it in, since she wasn't going to be in class. She got the feeling her professor was getting a little irritated with her insistence on working a full-time job in addition to trying to finish grad school, especially given the nature of their last conversation.

Sydney had to admit she had been less than attentive in class since Danny had died, to the point that her professor had approached her after class Wednesday…

_"Sydney, would you mind staying a moment?"_

_Sydney glanced up from her bag in surprise. Professor McGillivray only ever asked people to stay after class when they were in trouble. The few people still trickling out of the classroom glanced at her, wondering what kind of trouble she could be in. Sydney had a reputation for being a quiet, attentive student, devoted to her work and her studies. She was the last person anyone in the class would expect to be in trouble._

_Cautiously, Sydney approached the professor's desk at the front of the room, avoiding the stares of her fellow classmates, who—with one glare from McGillivray—scuttled out of the room._

_"Are you all right, Sydney? You seem to have been a little distracted the last few weeks."_

_Sydney blinked, surprised. McGillivray was keeping her after class to ask her if she was all right? "Uh, I'm a little tired, Professor, that's all."_

_"Well I know that you work very hard at that bank, Sydney, and that you work very hard in school as well, it just seems that…well it seems as if you aren't putting as much effort into your work as you used to. Now I know you were very adamant about finishing your second degree, and I know that you are very passionate about history, but I also know that you take your job very seriously. I've just been thinking, you can always come back to school, Sydney. If your work at the bank is taking up too much of your time, then perhaps you should reconsider taking another degree right now. You–"_

_"I'm not working for the bank anymore," Sydney interrupted._

_"Excuse me?"_

_Sydney took a breath, realizing she had just interrupted her professor. "I'm sorry to interrupt, Professor, but after…" Here she had to stop for a moment to compose herself before continuing. "I quit my job at the bank over a month ago. I'm now working for a travel magazine; I had a weekly article about the historical value of popular travel sites. The schedule is a little bit more lenient than the one I had working at the bank, and I thought, since I'm doing a major in History, it would be a more useful job to take."_

_Now it was McGillivray's turn to be surprised. "Oh. Well that's better, Sydney, but are you sure you can handle it? You don't look like you've slept much lately."_

_Sydney sighed. "It's true I haven't been getting as much sleep as I should, but it has nothing to do with work. My…my boyfriend died a month ago in a car accident—well we were both involved in the accident—and, well, it's been a bit of a rough time since."_

_"Sydney, I had no idea." McGillivray's face filled with sadness. "I'm sorry."_

_Sydney smiled patiently. "I've wanted to be a History teacher since my mother died, professor. This is my last year in the program, and I have no intention of giving up now. Especially after what happened to my boyfriend. He knew how important school was to me, and he always encouraged me not to give it up. Besides, the job at the magazine is just temporary. I have no intention of sticking with it long-term."_

_"Well that's good. I'm sure you're boyfriend would be very proud of you."_

_Sydney smiled absent-mindedly. "Yes. He is."_

_McGillivray raised her eyebrows. "Is? Don't you mean was? I thought you said he passed away."_

_Sydney's cheeks flamed as she realized that, this whole time, she had been thinking of Vaughn when she said boyfriend, and not Danny. "Yes, he did. That's what I meant."_

_There was a moment of awkward silence._

_"Well, if that'll be everything, Professor, I've got to go. My plane leaves in a few hours, and I've still got to pack."_

_"Plane?" McGillivray asked sceptically._

_"I'm going to Paris with the magazine. It's all historical though, Professor, I swear!" she added hastily, seeing the look on her professor's face._

_"I suppose that means you'll be wanting an extension on the paper due tomorrow?"_

_"I'll have it in by midnight tomorrow, I promise," Sydney said, before grabbing her bag, and hurrying out of the room. "Shit," she mumbled as she made her way down the corridor; she'd just remembered that even though her cover story was indeed working at a travel magazine, she had told Will she worked for an insurance brokerage. These kinds of slip-ups couldn't happen anymore, especially if Will did some checking up on her…_

The rumbling of the jet engine seemed so soothing; it was trying to lull Sydney to sleep, even though she dreaded what she would see as soon as her closed. If she only closed them for a second, however, maybe a compromise could be reached with her subconscious. As soon as things got ugly, she could always wake up…

_The room was dark, but even without the light, Sydney knew exactly where she was. How could she forget, when she'd lived there at least three years? There was the old coffee table, and the fireplace, and the old coasters she'd brought from her grandparents in Cape Cod. This was the apartment where she'd lived with Vaughn, before they separated._

_He came in then, smiling, a towel wrapped around his waist. He was fresh out of the shower, water droplets still clinging to his shoulders, smelling the way she loved: of shampoo and cheap, lemon-scented drugstore soap. As he wrapped his arms around her, she remembered what it was like to feel whole, to feel happy and safe. It was like The Covenant had never happened, like nothing had ever happened between them._

_Suddenly, Vaughn staggered. Before Sydney could do anything, he stumbled and fell, a red puddle blossoming out from under his chest. His eyes began to glaze over, and as Sydney watched helplessly, the life faded from his eyes._

_"That's what you get for leaving," a voice hissed._

_Sydney raised her head numbly to see Lauren Reed, smirking. In her hand, she held a Glock, fitted with a silencer. Her long, blond hair tumbled wildly around her face._

_"How many more will there have to be, Sydney?" she asked mockingly._

_Before Sydney could respond, the scene changed, and she found herself staring at a headstone: IN LOVING MEMORY OF MICHAEL CHARLES VAUGHN, 1971-2001. And written underneath it: SON, BROTHER, FRIEND._

_At first, all Sydney could do was stare. It was like all her worst nightmares were coming true right before her eyes. She could feel the tears starting to burn behind her eyes._

_"I get it now."_

_Sydney whirled around. Danny was standing there, his face full of hurt and betrayal. "Danny?" she whispered, disbelieving._

_"When were you going to tell me that you were still in love with him? That is, if you were ever going to tell me at all." His voice was bitter. "Why couldn't I have been enough for you, Syd? Why couldn't I have made you happy? Did you even try to be happy?" Danny shook his head in disgust. "He's not worth your time. You deserve way better than him. He left you, remember, without even saying goodbye?" Here his face shifted and filled with a bitter hatred. "I never left you. I never would have even dreamed of it. The thought of you, the way you were after he left, it makes me sick. It makes me sick that someone could do that to you, and not even care. The fact that he thinks he can just waltz back into your life like nothing happened, and have you fall for him all over again is disgusting. He's disgusting. I thought you had better taste, Sydney. I thought you said you were done with people like him."_

_Sydney could feel the tears beginning to roll down her cheeks. Everything was coming apart, all the secrets she had tried so carefully to conceal were coming out into the open. She wanted to make Danny understand that it was all some huge misunderstanding. She wanted to be able to tell him the truth, the whole truth: what she did for a living, the real circumstances behind Vaughn's disappearance, anything to wipe that look off his face. She opened her mouth to say something, her lips beginning to form his name, but he beat her to it._

_"I trusted you, Syd. And look where that got me."_

_Then he turned and began to walk away._

_"Danny, he's not who you think he is! Please, let me explain!" Sydney called after him, but he kept going until he was out of sight._

* * *

Vaughn awoke to the sound of sobbing.

At first, he didn't know where he was. He couldn't place the rumbling noise; it made him feel disoriented. As he looked around and took in the interior of the private jet, he remembered everything. They were on route to Paris, to meet Vladimir Leibovski. He'd fallen asleep—after an hour of sitting in awkward silence with Sydney, as she pretended to read the mission specs for the umpteenth time—only to be woken hours later by a jolting sensation from what Weiss called his Syd Radar, telling him something was wrong.

She was across from him, still sleeping. She looked so tiny, curled up in the seat, more vulnerable than Vaughn had seen her in a long time. It was heartbreaking to watch the tears dripping down her face, to listen to her begging and pleading with an invisible tormentor. For a second, he could only watch; seeing Sydney like this was so foreign, that he had no idea what to do, in fact, he almost forgot it was Sydney.

She said his name then; a faint whisper, filled with despair and agony. Vaughn didn't want to listen anymore. He took hold of her shoulder, gently, but firmly. "Syd," he called softly. "Come back to me, Syd."

She seemed to struggle with opening her eyes, but as soon as she did, she looked confused, almost hopeful. "Vaughn?"

"I'm right here, Sydney."

"You're not dead?" She almost seemed afraid to ask.

"It was just a dream," Vaughn soothed, brushing aside his momentary confusion. "I'm fine."

"Danny was there," Sydney whispered. "At your grave." Now Vaughn understood who the invisible tormentor had been. "When he looked at me…there was so much guilt in his eyes. It was like he knew the whole time that I never loved him enough."

Vaughn's heart skipped a beat. Ws she saying what he thought she was saying? "Syd—" he began.

"What if they come after you too?" She turned to face him, more serious now, despite the tears on her face. "In my dream, Lauren killed you. She told me that was what I got for leaving The Covenant. That this was only the beginning." Vaughn froze at the sound of Lauren's name being uttered from Sydney's lips, and wondering exactly how much about her Sydney knew, but Sydney continued before he could ask. "Vaughn, what if she's right? What if they come after everyone?"

"They won't, Sydney." Vaughn resisted the urge to pull her against him; instead, he took both of her hands in his. "The first time, they were after you. Danny just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. The only one in any real danger is you. These dreams are just a result of everything that's happened. They'll go away, Syd. You just have to give it some time."

She pulled her hands away from him, becoming more insistent. "Yes, but what if you happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time too? I'm not going to let you end up like Danny. I've already lost you once. I'm not going to lose you again."

"Well then what are you suggesting?" As touched, as he was that Sydney didn't want to lose him again, he wasn't going to let her go on some suicide mission. "You're not thinking about going back to The Covenant, are you?"

Sydney shook her head. "I couldn't. Not after what happened, but I'm thinking that I should do this alone. If The Covenant's still after me, Leibovski will be under surveillance. He's a valuable source, because he has useful connections. Besides, if they find out that you're tied to me, they'll come after you, given our history. They may try and use you as a way to get to me. I'm not going to let that happen, Vaughn."

"Then let me come with you! You know how suspicious it would look if you went in alone. I trust you, Syd, but Kendall's not going to believe you. He'll think you're trying to double cross us, and since I've been ordered to maintain surveillance of you at all times, I'd take a bullet for not doing my job." He paused and looked at her, feeling the magnetism of those deep, brown eyes, before continuing. "Besides, do you think for one second that I am going to let you go in there alone?"

Sydney smiled thinly, seemingly distracted. Then her smile faded. "So what are we going to do?"

Vaughn sighed. "That's just it. I don't know. I don't deal with these people. You do. This is you turf, not mine, but I am sure as hell not letting you go in there alone. Especially if The Covenant is watching him, which is highly likely, given the nature of the information he could divulge to us."

Sydney frowned slightly, thinking. Vaughn could practically hear the gears in her brain working. "You're going to need an alias," she said after a moment, her tone suddenly business-like and brisk. "Papers, a new look; Leibovski's very thorough with checking up on new people. He and I go way back, so he trusts me—if you can call what we have trust—but that doesn't mean he'll forego all protocol when I bring a friend." She grabbed the mission specs folder and glanced over it. "They've given you a name, but the history probably doesn't run deep enough. If you're going to be up there with me, you've got to be on Interpol. Which I don't think you are. We'll—"

"Hang on a second," Vaughn interrupted. "You're on Interpol?" He couldn't believe that the Sydney he knew—his Sydney—could be wanted by Interpol. Even though she'd spent two of the last four years working for a major terrorist organisation, he hadn't thought she'd done anything _that_ bad.

Sydney cast him a withering look. "Yes. I'm an active CIA agent on Interpol. Julia Thorne is wanted on Interpol, not me! Though Julia Thorne and I are one and the same—but most people don't know that, and I'd like to keep it that way." she added, like they were back in grade school and she was sharing with him her most important secret.

"So, as I was saying, we'll have to get you up on Interpol. That shouldn't be too hard, I know some people who should be able to get you in." Vaughn knew of one person who would definitely be able to get him onto Interpol. Sydney knew him too, but wasn't allowed to know yet that he was now in the employ of the CIA.

"If I'm going to be on Interpol, we're going to have to change our story." Vaughn took the mission specs folder from Sydney, her brisk, business-like manner rubbing off on him. "It says that I'm a businessman interested in underground trading, and I want a munitions supplier. You're supposed to be my go-between, the one who mentioned Leibovski in the first place and knows all the right contact protocols. If I'm on Interpol, that story is not going to work. And you're right, there isn't much padding to it."

"Well, a businessman could easily be on Interpol," Sydney countered with a wicked grin. "I've known a few." Vaughn didn't like the way she used the word _known_. "But you're right, it won't work for this scenario."

They were interrupted by an intercom broadcast from the co-pilot. "We're approaching Paris now. ETA forty-five minutes to an hour."

Vaughn and Sydney exchanged looks. "We'd better get that story straight."

Sydney smiled. "I've already got that one figured out. You're going to be my associate."

Vaughn frowned. "In your debrief, you said that Sark was you associate when you dealt with Leibovski. Julia has a reputation for being very picky with whom she works with. You can't use me as your associate; Leibovski will know something's up."

Sydney shook her head. "I thought about that too, but then I remembered that Leibovski and Sark never actually met. I forgot to mention it in my debrief, but they spoke over the phone and Sark knows what Leibovski looks like, but they've never met. If you can talk like Julian and make a visual ID on Leibovski, you'll be fine. We just need to tweak Sark's profile, which will actually be easier than creating a new one. All that has to be done is upload a picture of you in your disguise."

Vaughn nodded. "Looks like I'd better get on the phone then."

* * *

_APO Headquarters_

_Los Angeles_

_10:00_

It had been almost a month and a half since Marshall Flinkman had joined APO, and yet, he was still unpacking. There were a number of reasons why this was still the case: 1) He was still adjusting to the new setting and getting a feel for the office—which was much bigger than the one he'd had with SD-6, 2) He had a bunch of gadgets still in storage, which he'd been too lazy to get, and 3) He'd been doing quite a bit of work getting systems up and running for APO's servers. Marshall's work centre was always a disaster, but usually, everything was there.

Marshall was busy trying to take inventory of what he needed to retrieve from storage when his desktop phone rang. Marshall was perplexed: usually, if someone wanted to phone him, they called his cell. In fact, his desk phone was used so infrequently, Marshall had actually forgotten that he had on.

Realizing the only people who ever used his landline were Jack Bristow, Director Kendall, and other official people (Langley and such), and therefore meaning that this call was more likely than not of great importance, Marshall snatched it up and tried his best to sound calm, collected, and professional. "Flinkman here."

"Marshall, it's Vaughn."

Marshall blinked, surprised. "Hi, Vaughn. Hang on one second, I'm going to transfer you to my headset." He reached for his earpiece and clipped it in, making sure the connection was established before hanging up the landline.

"Is this line secure?"

"Uh, yeah," Marshall said uncertainly. "I'm just wondering why you would be asking that, because, I mean, aren't you supposed to be on a mission with Sydney, who isn't supposed to know about APO right now and so-"

"Listen, Marshall, I don't have time for this." Vaughn interrupted impatiently. "There's been a change in plans. Leibovski's got certain protocols involving guests. Apparently, he does some pretty thorough background checking, and he'll know something's up if the history doesn't run deep enough. Since Syd's supposed to be very picky with associates, I'm going in as her known companion, Matthew Englis. It's one of Sark's aliases, so you'll have to do some tweaking, but the bulk of it's there."

Marshall took a moment to digest this. "Okay, I mean, that's great and all, but, uh, what exactly do you want me to do?"

"I'll need my photo uploaded onto Englis' Interpol profile. I'll send you a picture of what I'm going to look like. Can you do that without the change being detected?"

Marshall snorted. "Can you tie your shoes? I hacked into the Pentagon undetected when I was in college. This is nothing."

There was a pause, in which Marshall could have sworn—had he been able to see—that Vaughn was smiling. "How long?"

"After you send me the photo? I'd say about two minutes, max."

"Good. Thanks, Marshall."

"Hey, no problem. It's more fun than the stuff I'm doing down here. And, uh, I was just wondering: have you told Sydney about this, because, I mean, she's not supposed to know about APO. Not that I'm complaining if you've told her, it's just, well, Mr. Bristow will be really upset if she's found out."

"I haven't told her, Marshall. I think she assumes that you're some old contact of mine. She's in the bathroom right now."

Marshall smiled, relieved. "Oh, well good."

"I'll send you the picture when it get it, Marshall." Vaughn hung up.

"Okay. Great. Bye," he mumbled, trying not to feel underappreciated. "I'm sure Vaughn had other things to do. Or maybe Sydney came out of the bathroom," Marshall told himself. "That must have been what happened."

Forty-five minutes later, Marshall still hadn't received anything. In fact, he was beginning to wonder if Vaughn was going to send him anything at all. Just then, his computer pinged. Opening his inbox, Marshall saw that he had one new message:

**To: Marshall Flinkman**

**From: Michael Vaughn**

**Subject: Your pictures**

_Mr. Flinkman,_

_Here are the pictures I wanted you to use for the new webpage you're designing for the company. Even though you don't work for us, the work you've been doing is greatly appreciated. We really liked the WorldMag webpage. Who knows, maybe we'll convince you to come work with us instead._

_Sincerely,_

**Michael Vaughn, Broker**

**Steinman and Sons Insurance**

**Los Angeles, California**

Marshall resisted the urge to laugh to himself. He knew that all messages had to be encoded, and they had to seem like the kind of messages that would be sent from an insurance broker to a artistic designer at a tourism magazine, but it still was a little ridiculous to read what Vaughn had written, and how preposterously professional it sounded. And the fact that Vaughn had added the bit about Marshall coming to work with him someday, well that was just hilarious!

Marshall hastily downloaded the photo attached to the email, displaying Vaughn in a dark leather jacket with a dark, almost goading expression on his face. Trying to ignore the fact that the picture was severely intimidating, Marshall opened Matthew Englis' Interpol profile, and began uploading the picture of Vaughn in its place.

"Marshall?"

He jumped guiltily to see Jack Bristow standing silhouetted in the doorway.

"Oh, uh, hey Mr Bristow," Marshall said hastily, attempting to scoot his chair over to block the computer screen, where the Interpol profile—which now displayed Vaughn's picture—was clearly visible, so quickly that he sent the paraphernalia cluttering his desk flying in all directions. "I was just, uh, finishing some…last minute organization?" He finished hopefully, praying that Jack wasn't going to see through his painfully obvious attempt to cover up what he was really doing. It was highly unlikely that the older man would believe Marshall, after all, not only was he a terrible liar, but Jack was also incredibly good at figuring out when people were lying and when they were actually telling the truth. It took someone truly skilled in deception to be able to fool Jack, since he was such a master of deception himself. Marshall couldn't even lie to strangers, let alone someone as truly intimidating as Sydney's dad.

Fortunately, Jack didn't seem to be interested in the menial antics of Marshall Flinkman. If he had heard anything that Marshall had said, he gave no indication, nor did he ask to see what it was that Marshall was so obviously trying to hide behind him. "Are the system updates finished?" he asked brusquely, making it clear that he wanted nothing more than to get out of this office as quickly as possible.

Marshall nodded, relieved. "They'll be finished within the hour, Mr Bristow, sir."

"Good," said Jack, before turning and striding out of the office.


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N: So all of the updates so far have been pretty quick because I've got all the chapters banked. I've started chapter four, but I don't have the whole thing written, so the updates won't be nearly as quick as they have been.**

**Also, HUGE thanks to the three people who alerted this! It means a lot to know that people are reading it. Reviews are appreciated too!**

* * *

_LAX_

_Los Angeles, California_

_10:45_

Nadia stepped out into the Los Angeles sunshine and tried very hard not to relax. Yes, appearing calm was key, especially if The Covenant was watching her, but completely letting her guard down would be unwise. Still, it was hard not to feel safe. Not only was she in Los Angeles, she was alive and on her way to finding her family, something she'd dreamed of doing.

She could feel the piece of paper containing Sydney's address burning a hole in her pocket. Katya had given it to her before she left St Petersburg, telling her to be safe, and not to make contact again unless she knew there was no way of it being traced.

"Going anywhere, miss?"

Nadia looked up, startled, to see a taxicab driver watching her expectantly. Immediately, her guard went up, but she relaxed when she realized that, even if he was working for The Covenant, there was no way he'd be able to recognize her. With her casual attire and minimal baggage, she could have easily been dropping someone off at the airport, rather than arriving herself. Shaking her head slightly she said, "Nowhere special, thanks," and walked away.

If The Covenant really was after her, then public transport was the quickest and safest way to get to Sydney's. Cabs were not an option, they were too easy to commandeer. Walking wasn't really risky so much as it was time consuming. Renting a car left an unwanted paper trail. The bus or the subway was the best option.

Nadia took a bus from the airport to downtown, where she caught the subway to the nearest stop, a block away from Sydney's apartment. The neighbourhood wasn't particularly nice; some trees and the bland, brick apartment complexes, but it was by no means ugly. Nadia had seen many more ugly street blocks than the one where her sister lived.

Number 87 was an ordinary brick building, identical to all the others. Nadia made her way through the front door, relishing in the cool of the air-conditioned foyer. She glanced at the bronze plaque by the door scanning for her sister's apartment. She found it quickly: 4C, only the name beside it didn't read Sydney Bristow, but said instead: M. VAUGHN.

Nadia stared at the nameplate, perplexed. Unconsciously, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the well-worn piece of paper Katya had given her. _Sydney Bristow, Apartment 4C, 87 Acacia Drive, Los Angeles, CA, USA._ Perhaps Sydney had a boyfriend? _Yes_, Nadia said to herself, _this is the logical solution_. Sydney must be living with her boyfriend…unless he was her fiancée, or worse, her husband? Nadia tried to quell the horror at her sister being married. Instead, she tried to think about this logically. If Sydney were married, wouldn't the apartment be listed under both names?

Whatever the situation was, Nadia decided that she wasn't going to be dissuaded, not after having come this far. Trying to ignore the disappointment that she and Sydney wouldn't be sharing an apartment, Nadia began climbing the stairs. Taking the elevator would have been faster, but she wanted to take advantage of the extra time to think of what she was going to say when her sister opened the door. She decided that it wouldn't be wise to mention that they were sisters right off the bat, but would Sydney be willing to invite a complete stranger into her apartment? Would she even be willing to talk in the doorway or maybe discuss things over a cup of coffee? Nadia realised she was at a great disadvantage no knowing anything about her sister, but perhaps it was better since Sydney didn't know anything about her, either.

The door to 4C loomed ahead, seeming scarier than anything Nadia had ever dealt with as a spy. It seemed silly that when faced with a deadly assassin or a life-or-death situation she was able to remain calm, but was terrified by the thought of meeting her sister for the first time. In truth, she was more afraid of meeting the boyfriend, and having to explain everything in front of him. Deciding that postponing the inevitable any longer would only make her nervousness worse, Nadia raised her fist, hesitated in a last moment of uncertainty, steeled herself, and knocked once on the door.

There was a moment of silence—which seemed to stretch on for years—before the door opened, revealing a tall, slightly heavyset man in his early thirties. _Sydney's boyfriend_, Nadia thought. _Mr—what was his name? Oh yes, Vaughn. W. Vaughn. Strange, he doesn't seem like her type. Actually he's kind of cute_.

Nadia took a deep breath. "Hi. Is Sydney home?"

The man looked perplexed for a fraction of a second, before saying, "Sydney doesn't live here."

Nadia had never felt so embarrassed in her life. Of course. It all made sense now. The apartment was in another name because Sydney had moved out. Katya's intell must have been old; Sydney had obviously moved since then. "Oh. I'm sorry to have bothered you. I'll be on my way."

She started to turn away, when the man called out, "Wait!"

She turned, surprised.

"What I meant to say was that Sydney doesn't live here anymore. She used to, but that wouldn't really have helped you even if you were looking for her earlier, because the apartment was never registered in her name, and, technically it wasn't even hers, so—" He paused and took a breath. "I'm sorry to go on and on. Look, why don't you come in and I'll get Sydney's address for you?"

Nadia was surprised, but at the same time, pleased. "Okay. Thank you."

"I'm Eric, by the way," the man said as he held open the door for Nadia to step into the apartment. "Eric Weiss. I'm Michael's roommate. Or maybe housemate would be a better word." He smiled apologetically at her. "I'm not usually like this. I'm just not used to having beautiful women in my house."

Nadia blushed. She could tell that this was a genuine compliment and not just some dumb line that guys used to try and pick up women.

The apartment was larger than Nadia had expected it to be. It was a two bedroom with a kitchen, living and dining areas, and a bathroom. The living room was obviously masculine boasting a large television surrounded by sofa, and a battered-looking recliner. There was a coffee table in front of the couch, and a large, fuzzy object that looked suspiciously like a dog bed in one corner.

No sooner had Nadia closed the door behind her, she was assaulted buy a large, golden object, which barrelled into her at a velocity that almost knocker her flat.

"Sergeant! Down!" Weiss yelled. Turning towards Nadia, he added, "Sorry about him. He's Michael's dog, but since he's away on business, I'm stuck looking after him. He tends to het a little overexcited when he meets new people."

Nadia just smiled as he dragged Sergeant away. "It's really not a problem," she said reassuringly. "I like dogs."

Weiss looked relieved. "Oh, well that's great then. Just be careful with him. I've told Michael that he should get him properly trained, but he never seems to have the time. Which I guess is understandable. Work keeps us pretty busy."

"What do you do for a living?" Nadia was curious to find out what Weiss did. She wondered if they had anything in common, and if he had a girlfriend. A guy like him probably did; he was very cute: even though he was stocky, his height balanced it out, so he looked more muscular than fat. Nadia found his short dark hair and blue eyes incredibly appealing. He looked the kind of guy who would be fun to spend time with: he was funny and nice—or at least that was the way it seemed, and Nadia, having a reputation for being an extremely good judge of character, was pretty sure that her first impression was correct.

"Me?" He looked genuinely surprised at her question. Was it too forward of her to ask what he did for a living, or was the surprise because there was more to his job than most people believed, much like hers? She half hoped that would be the case: they would have an excuse to spend more time together. "I'm an insurance broker. Michael and I both are, actually. We used to work for the State Department, but we quit a couple of years ago. We had a bad overseas posting. The desk job isn't as exciting, but it pays well."

"Oh." Nadia didn't know whether she was more surprised or disappointed at this news. Weiss didn't strike her as the insurance type at all, unless it was a cover. She was pretty sure that State Department was a part of the American intelligence community. So that meant they had both quit the CIA—or whatever other organisation they had been working for; America had so many— and actually become insurance brokers, or they were using another cover, unless they were on assignment?

"So how do you know Sydney?" Weiss asked conversationally, as he fished around in a drawer in the kitchen, obviously looking for a pen. "You don't sound like you're from around here."

_He must have noticed my accent,_ Nadia thought. _Should I tell him the truth, or tell him that I'm a Hispanic from the US? The only hiccup that could occur with that is that my accent isn't Hispanic, it's Argentinean with a bit of Russian mixed in. _"I'm from Argentina," she said, hoping that the Argentinean one was the one that he had noticed, and that the slight Russian lilt was camouflaged. "This is my first time in the States." Which was technically not true, since she'd done some freelance work here in the past, but most of it was in South America, with SIDE, and in Europe.

"Well, welcome to Los Angeles, then. Are you staying long?"

"I don't know at this point. I'll probably figure that out after I've met with Sydney."

Weiss finally found a pen and began scrawling what Nadia assumed was Sydney's current address on a piece of paper. "So it will be safe to assume at this point that your visit is purely for pleasure?"

Nadia mulled this over. It was a difficult question, one that she wasn't even sure she had the answer to. "I suppose," she said carefully. "Actually, Sydney doesn't know I'm coming. I'm her sister."

Weiss looked at her for a long moment with an unreadable expression on his face. "I didn't know Sydney had a sister."

Nadia sighed. "Neither does she. And neither did I until very recently. That's why I'm here, actually. Things have gotten a little complicated, and I was hoping that I'd be able to get in touch with her; maybe stay here until this blows over."

"Oh," said Weiss sympathetically. "Well I know she has a roommate, but I'm sure you'll be able to work something out."

Nadia's heart sank. Sydney had a roommate. Where was she going to stay now? "Do you know when she'll be back?"

"From her business trip? Tomorrow, probably. If not, then I'd say the day after at the latest." He paused, as if unsure of whether he should continue. "You know, if you're looking for a place to stay, you can always crash here for a few days. Michael's away, so you can use his bedroom. I don't mind."

"That's very kind of you," replied Nadia, "but are you sure your roommate won't mind?"

Weiss nodded. "Of course not." There was a moment of awkward silence, as it became apparent that neither of them had anything else to say to each other. Weiss's eyes casually slid to his watch, and he started as he noticed the time. "Shit! Sorry," he added hastily, glancing at Nadia. Swearing in the presence of a lady obviously made him uncomfortable. She just smiled. "It's fine. I've used that word before."

Weiss still looked apologetic, an expression which made him look a little bit like a puppy. Nadia thought it was cute. "I have to head out to work," he explained. "In fact, I probably should have been there an hour ago. If you get hungry or anything, there's food in the fridge, and there are some takeout menus on the counter. And here's my cell number if you need anything." He scrawled a number on the paper containing Sydney's new address.

Nadia was overwhelmed by his kindness. After all, she was a virtual stranger. "Thank you ever so much," she said. "I don't know how to repay you."

"Don't mention it." Weiss grinned. "Like I said, it's not every day a beautiful woman knocks on my door looking for a place to stay. I'll probably be back sometime between six and eight, depending on how busy things are at the office." He grabbed his briefcase and headed to the door. "What did you say your name was?"

Nadia blushed. "I didn't. I'm Nadia."

"Well it's nice to meet you Nadia." Weiss smiled and let himself out the door.

Nadia smiled as he left, wondering how much trouble she had just gotten her self into.

* * *

_Suite 304_

_InterContinental Paris_

_Paris, France_

_12:15_

Sydney wrapped herself in a towel and opened the bathroom door, trying not to shiver as the cloud of steam filling the bathroom door dispersed. She surveyed the large, luxurious hotel suite, and failed to suppress a small smile as she noticed Vaughn sprawled on the lush, leather sofa, watching something that looked suspiciously like a French soap opera, and nursing a bottle of champagne.

"You know, drinking on the job is not condoned," she teased. "You'd be in a lot of trouble if I reported this."

Vaughn shook his head, smiling. "And a good morning to you, too." He must have noticed the way she was glancing at the bottle with raised eyebrows because he said, "The way I see it, if drinking is necessary while on the job, say if you were at a bar, then there's no reason why it can't be condoned. Besides, that rule was more of a precaution to prevent the CIA from having to deal with agents drunk on the job. And, I figure that if I offer you a drink as well, than you can't report me without reporting yourself as well." He smiled and held out the bottle.

Sydney shook her head, accepting the bottle and taking a swig of champagne. "You're hopeless, you really are." She glanced at the TV. A large blonde woman with a bad, seventies-era perm was yelling at another woman who looked suspiciously like a serving maid. "Is that what I think it is?"

Vaughn smiled. "It's a French soap opera my mom used to watch when we were kids. We got French cable too, so Mom wouldn't miss her shows. It's actually pretty good."

"What's going on?" she asked, amused.

"The blonde woman just realised that her husband has been having an affair with the serving maid, who is actually her sister, and the maid is pregnant with the husband's baby."

"And you consider this stuff to be good?" Sydney raised her eyebrows in disbelief.

He shrugged. "As far as soap operas go. You should have seen the things my mom used to watch."

Sydney sighed and took another sip of champagne. "Did you call about Interpol?"

Vaughn nodded. "I took care of it." He took the champagne bottle, turned off the television and stood up. "Are you going to get in touch with Leibovski before we order breakfast?"

Sydney glanced at the large, ornate clock hanging on the wall. "Is this hour of the morning still considered breakfast time?"

"In France, anytime is breakfast time." Vaughn paused to consider his words. "Well, technically, that's not true. But we'll be able to find croissants—which are considered to be breakfast food—at just about every café in the country at just about any time. Therefore, you can technically find breakfast anywhere in France at any given time."

Sydney laughed. "All right. Well, I'll trust your superior French taste and let you order breakfast, while I get on the horn to Leibovski."

Vaughn shook his head, smiling.

"What?"

"It's just such a military expression. Get on the horn." He shook his head again. "I thought only men in the military said that."

"Dixon said it once, I think," she said, frowning in concentration as she tried to remember where exactly she had heard the saying before. Was it Dixon who had said that, or was it someone else? Now that she thought about it, she was quite sure it wasn't Dixon who had said it at all. "Actually, that's not true. It was shortly after I started freelancing. I did a job in Madrid with a BlackOps group. There were a couple Delta Force guys, a female ex-cop from Philly, and a couple Army guys. One of them—the guy in charge, who was a lieutenant colonel—used that expression. If I remember correctly, he said he needed to get on the horn to Langley, or the White House or something."

Vaughn stared at her like she just sprouted an extra head. "You did freelancing for the U.S. government? With some guys from Delta Force?"

Sydney nodded, vaguely. "I wasn't too keen on getting into anything like what I had done with SD-6 for the first little while. I talked to my dad a little while after you left, when I wanted to come back into the freelancing business, and he said that I could probably do some covert stuff for Langley and as long as I reported things of interest back to them, I could do whatever jobs I wanted for whoever I wanted without having to worry about getting charged with espionage. He also told me that if I did that, Langley would be able to guarantee that, if I wanted to, I had a ticket back into the CIA, because I wouldn't officially be an agent in their employ doing the freelancing stuff. I thought it was a pretty good deal. They loaned me out to the BlackOps group for a while…I think we were doing something for the President. Anyway, that's where the expression comes from."

Vaughn was still clearly unable to get past the fact that Sydney had done work with people from Delta Force. As he headed towards the door towards the telephone, she could hear him muttering under his breath, "Delta Force. Amazing."

Sydney shook her head and smiled to herself. It was a nice feeling, to be able to amaze people with one's accomplishments.

* * *

To Vaughn, Sydney's conversation with Vladimir Leibovski, and his associate sounded something like this:

"_Bonjour_. I'd like to speak to M. Cousteau, please."

"Well no, I don't have an appointment. I have some very urgent business that cannot wait."

"I'm not going to speak to _you_ about the nature of my business–"

"Yes, I'm aware that M. Cousteau is a busy man–" Vaughn could tell Sydney was getting more and more frustrated. If there was one thing she really hated other people doing, it was cutting her off—both mid-sentence and when she was driving.

"Well, in that case, I'm sorry to interrupt his meeting, but it's urgent that I speak to him. Tell him that his wife is going to be very upset if he doesn't answer the phone right now."

Vaughn raised his eyebrows at this, but Sydney shook her head, and mouthed "Protocol".

"Well you didn't ask. I assumed by now that you would recognize my voice, but I suppose I should have known that would be too much for Bernard's staff to handle." Here her voice became icy.

"You'd better be sorry. And next time I call, you get him on the phone right away. I don't care if he's in a meeting, or trying to blow up the White House, you put him on the line."

Vaughn chuckled. Sydney cocked her head curiously. "As if you'd be calling him if he was trying to blow up the White House," he explained.

"As if he'd be able to blow up the White House is more like it," she countered. "He doesn't have the balls for that stuff."

There was a pause, as whoever it was on the other end went to fetch Vladimir Leibovski from his meeting. Vaughn could tell when he came on the line, because Sydney no longer spoke in French, but instead switched to Russian.

"Vladimir. You really need to get some more competent staff."

"Well, I wasn't too offended. He seemed to think that whatever you were doing was very important."

"Hmm. Well, in that case, I almost feel bad for interrupting you. If you want, I can call back." Vaughn hastily turned a snort of laughter into a cough. He didn't think he'd ever found a mission to be so amusing. In fact, he almost wished that Weiss was here, or that he could record the conversation. His best friend would piss himself laughing.

"He is? Interesting. Well if you're sure."

"I'm in town with my associate, Matthew Englis. You spoke to him once, remember?"

"Well a little bird whispered in my ear that you used to do business with The Covenant."

"Have you ever heard the saying 'know thy enemy'? Well, let's just say that it's in your best interests to help me get to know them."

"Well, that's unfortunate. Did you know that the CIA is onto you? They know all about your operation in Paris. In fact, they'll probably be raiding you in a few days if you're not too careful. So if I were you, I'd tell me all I wanted to know about The Covenant, otherwise you may find out that the CIA knows a lot more about you than they ever wanted to."

"This evening? Sounds great. Our regular spot. I'm glad you could be so accommodating."

Sydney hung up the phone, a triumphant look on her face. Vaughn raised his eyebrows.

"What?" The look on Sydney's face was one of the most innocent Vaughn had ever seen.

"You never struck me as the type to use blackmail, that's all."

And, just like that, the moment was broken, all the camaraderie lost. Sydney looked away, her face closing off. "You've been away for four years, Vaughn," she whispered, avoiding his gaze. "There are a lot of things you don't know about me." There was a long silence, and then she said, "I have to go work on my paper," and walked away.

* * *

The day seemed to last for a million years. Sydney spent the rest of the morning in the room finishing her paper, while Vaughn read the paper, made numerous pots of coffee and disappeared every now and then to the bedroom to make long phone calls to God only knew who. Breakfast was forgotten, and lunch wasn't even mentioned. The paper was finished by noon, and by the time she had emailed it off to her professor Vaughn had holed himself up in the bedroom again, on the phone to someone or other. Sydney took the liberty of making herself a tea and checking her email; by the time that was finished, the bedroom was free and Sydney made use of the bed to have a nap.

She was sleeping peacefully when Vaughn came in at six o'clock to wake her. At first, he hesitated, knowing that sleep was something Sydney didn't get a lot of, but then he steeled himself, remembering that they were supposed to be meeting Leibovski somewhere in an hour, and Sydney was the only person who knew where that somewhere was. He reached out and shook Sydney's shoulder gently. No response. Sighing, he sat down on the bed beside her and poked his index finger gently between her ribs. With a squeak, she sat up, and, upon noticing him, frowned.

"That wasn't very nice."

Vaughn smothered a smile. "For a CIA agent, you're a very deep sleeper." He stood up. "Come on. It's six o'clock. We'd better get going."

Sydney sighed and swung her legs out of bed. "Showtime," she muttered to herself before plodding off to the bathroom.

Vaughn waited for the sound of the shower to start before he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and punched an autodial button. It was answered on the second ring.

"Weiss."

"I got your message. Sydney's in the shower. Now would you mind telling me what the hell is going on?"

There was a chuckle on the other end of the line. "Ah, Michael. I thought I recognized your dulcet tones. You do realize it's nine in the morning here and I'm currently stuck in traffic. Driving while talking on a cell phone is highly dangerous, you know."

Vaughn sighed. "Look, Eric, I have about thirty seconds before Syd gets out of the shower. Start talking."

The silence on the other end of the line was deafening for five seconds, before Weiss replied, "She knocked on my door yesterday morning, looking for Sydney. She had an address—our address—on a slip of paper in her pocket. She looked a little bit like Sydney, but you wouldn't necessarily think they were related unless you knew beforehand."

"Wait, related?" Vaughn started.

"You didn't hear? She says she's Sydney's sister."

"What? Sydney doesn't have a sister!"

"I know," Weiss replied evenly. "That's what I said, only it was phrased much nicer than that. I said I wasn't aware that Sydney had a sister. She said that neither was she until recently. Her name's Nadia Santos."

Vaughn—who had been pacing the length of the bedroom like a caged tiger—stopped, wondering if he had misheard. Sydney's sister hadn't known she had a sister either? What was going on? "You mean the so called sister had no idea she had a sister either?"

"I know, weird, huh? Apparently she didn't know she had any siblings until three or four days ago. She's been moved to a safe house; apparently, our apartment wasn't considered safe enough. Kendall has Jack debriefing her; he wants to make sure she's not a terrorist. Just thought I should let you know."

Vaughn contemplated this for a moment. It all seemed impossible to believe; especially considering Sydney's mother had died when Sydney was seven, and hadn't been pregnant before the accident, or—to anyone's knowledge—after. However, if a DNA test was done proving that this Nadia Santos was indeed Sydney's sister, and she turned out to be related to them, then it would simply have to remain a mystery. "Okay," he said finally. "Thanks for letting me know."

"No problem. Are you going to tell Sydney?"

There was another dilemma. If Vaughn told Sydney, she'd be shocked, yes, and probably distracted for the remainder of the mission, which wouldn't be good for either of them. He could wait until they were on the plane, but if Nadia weren't finished interrogations, then it would just be another unneeded stress on her life. Besides, they had no way of knowing if she was even Sydney's sister.

"I'm not going to tell her yet. Not until we know she's actually Sydney's sister."

Weiss made a doubtful noise on the other end of the line. "Are you sure about that? Because, you know, if she finds out that you knew and didn't say anything, she'll be pretty pissed."

"Well what am I supposed to do?" Vaughn retorted indignantly. "We're in the middle of a mission, and I can't afford to have her distracted. And if she's not Sydney's sister, than it's just another stress she doesn't need to worry about now."

"Okay, okay, calm down. I'm just saying that I don't know if she'd want you to make those decisions for her, okay? That's all. But I completely agree when you say now is not a good time tell her, if you do. Wait 'til we get back."

Vaughn sighed. "Fine. Sorry I snapped at you. I'll talk to you when we get back, okay?"

"Fine."

"Keep me posted."

"Will do. Oh, and good luck."

Vaughn smiled nervously, even thought he knew Weiss couldn't see. "Thanks. I think we're going to need it." He snapped the phone shut, tucked it back into his pocket, sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. He knew, logically, that there was no need to be worried about the success of the mission this evening. Sydney knew Leibovski well, and as long as he played the part, they were good to go. It was playing the part that had him worried. That, and the obvious tensions between him and Sydney, made only worse by the news that Weiss had just relayed to him. He knew that, as a CIA agent, he was expected to keep his private and personal lives separate, to not let personal problems interfere with work and vice versa, but compartmentalizing was much easier to do on paper than it was in real life. Especially when the stuff he was supposed to be compartmentalizing was related to Sydney. The line between their personal and private lives had been very thin, in fact, quite often there was no line at all, which made it that much harder to forget about things. He wasn't used to having to compartmentalize things when he was working with her; as far as he could remember, this was the first job they'd done where they hadn't been in a relationship. However, if this was going to work, he was going to have to compartmentalize. They weren't in a relationship anymore. They were business partners, nothing more. All he had to do was remember that and he was fine.

"You ready?"

Vaughn whirled around to see Sydney standing behind him. She looked stunning: her straight, mid-length layers replaced with long, wavy extensions in a rich shade of coffee. Her brown eyes had lined with kohl and smoky eye shadow, giving them a darker, sensuous look. She wore a pair of black jeans, black knee-high boots and a black sleeveless leather top with a low, plunging V-neck that showed off an impressive bit of cleavage, more likely than not caused by a push-up bra. The overall effect was, well, stunning.

He hastily glanced away and flipped his cell phone out, as if to check the time. "Yeah. Let's go." He started towards the door, thinking to himself, _So much for compartmentalization_.


End file.
